Category Archives: review

Unbound, We Howl

It is international women’s day… and I am not one.

I am frequently mistaken for a woman, in fact I have been for most of my life, and I could probably still pass for one if I chose. So what are the political stakes of deliberately choosing to step outside of the identity – in fact the political position – that is being a woman, and say: “no, I am something else?” Feminist and theorist Laurie Penny writes that she is biologically non-binary, but politically a woman because she believes that the experiences of her life in her body make it fundamentally necessary to speak to the position of women in today’s social environment. What is it, then, this political identity that is “woman” that I have never been a part of? Where does it intersect with “feminist” – which I am? How can that identity and politics and weight and necessity be communicated to those who sit outside of that identity and politics in every direction? Well, if you believe Alexandra Stilianos, and I usually do, you start with anger.

Unbound, We Howl is an unashamed polemic on the state of women in humanity. It begins with seventeen dancers – women and not – seated on the floor of the stage, facing away from the audience, watching a collage of found footage and scrolling, distorted headlines on transgender suicide and bathroom bills. Rather than setting up transwomen as the limit break case on the breath of identity, Stilianos places them right away at the center of her community, and then gets on with the serious business of exploring the heart of what being a woman actually means. In this space, what it means is these dancers, captured in life-size portrait on the backcloth of the stage. The seated cast rises to take their place in a two-dimensional pencil outline of themselves, fitting into the shapes that have been left by them in a moment of captured time, filling them out into three-dimensional reality. And then they move.

It starts very simply, with a short run and a one-handed appeal to the audience. We begin to hear fragments of text from Sylvia Plath, Jeanann Verlee, given voice by the dancers, or by electronic distortion, or even Siri – reminding us that we have consistently chosen a women’s voice to anthropomorphosise the idea of passive service. (Incidentally, while Siri, Alexa, Microsoft Cortana, Google Home and Facebook M will all tell you they have no gender, they all present as female, and advertising literature refers to them interchangeably as “she” and “it.” Woman or object… why not both?!) The dancers on stage emerge, explore, trace the present materiality of their bodies, crawl towards us, all with a gradual undertone of wary tension – a coming storm.

It is Andie Altchiler who breaks the tension first, with a stumbling, tripping, whirlwind of a solo that flings her legs and arms and hair all across the stage, only brought to a halt by a shout from another dancer. The cast retreat back into their portraits, but only for a second, crawling straight back out to make tornadoes of their own. The portraits become a home-base, a space owned by the dancers inhabiting their bodies, from which they can emerge to speak out amidst the tumult of cascading voices. This play between the general torrent of opinion and the specific kinesthetic appeals of each dancer, belies an easy theorization of the piece’s thesis or driving point. Each dancer becomes a manifestation of her own identity, gathered within the collective umbrella of a shared political identity: woman. At last they run forward and stand shoulder to shoulder at the front of the stage, visible and present, ready to be seen.

But the dancers are not interested in us, yet. Instead their gaze drags ours upwards to where an additional cast of dancers marches above us in silent protest, trapped by the bars of the lighting grid and unnoticed until this moment. The unusual perspective that keeps them from us and us from them shows us the vulnerability of bodies hitting the floor, but also renders their protest partially illegible – we are not used to seeing from below, and we cannot access the complexity and completeness of what it is they are trying to say.

Back down on the stage the tornadoes continue, but now the dancers add their individual voices into the play of sound around them. Stilianos joins her cast onstage to create a live mixing of light, sound, and projection, lending a sense of authenticity and spontaneity to this impassioned moment. Kat Sprudzs cranes her “poor, female head” into the microphone as she writhes across the floor, Laura Deangelis clambers on top of another performer to say… something about sex that she can never really quite get high enough for us to hear. The thwarting of the dancer’s voices and the impossible attitudes they have to enter into in order to amplify themselves explains why some simply try to stand by themselves and shout without the microphone, trying to make their point against the noise and movement all around them. The work begins to expand into the audience, the performers linking hands in a long, anchoring line as Emily Gaffga – finally in control of the microphone but with her voice distorted, walks among the seats asking questions about make-up: “Are you selling your body?” The line breaks down and struggles within itself as dancers fight to be heard, while above us more and more of the marchers collapse to the floor and shout at each other – the text on the back wall reads: “RECKONING.”

Some kind of accommodation: the dancers run and walk around the stage, are picked up, stand above the crowd, fall, roll, return to walking and running again. They return to their portrait line and stride forward together. Chaos. Dissolution. One dancer lays down erratic taped pathways while another dancer flings herself behind to stick them to the floor. Text drops from the ceiling to be read, the back of the stage reads “FEAR.” The dancers appeal to the audience for help but the project remains unclear – we don’t know how to productively intervene. Each dancer shouts, runs, dances, implores us to understand, but most of all we are asked to bear witness to the struggle in front of us: the performance that lacks unification but which is fundamentally about unity; which is as complicated as politics and as difficult as it is to define what it means to be human. Given torches, all the audience can do is shine a wavering light on the movement or image that makes most sense to them in the moment.

Just as I am beginning to understand, the lights cut out and – for a moment – we all breathe together. Exhausted.

Links to the full work can be found at Stilianos’s website.

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The Territory of Togetherness: CDA Works #2

When I moved to Columbus five years ago, I won’t lie; I despaired of how I’d managed a PhD without becoming absolutely and totally starved for art. In all fairness I’d just spent nearly a decade living in London, one of the great art centers of the world, and I had some very British misconceptions about the Midwest and what a “town with an attitude” like Columbus could offer. Well, I’m grateful to say, I was wrong.

The dance scene in Columbus was far richer than I knew, and has grown exponentially over the last five years. From the world-renowned dance degrees in the area – and especially at Ohio State – to a flourishing landscape of local companies, studios, projects, showings and pop-ups, the city is doing well. While I regret the loss of wonderful projects like the MINT collective and Feverhead, I’ve seen the rise of SEA<>BUS dance company, bringing sophisticated and intelligent improvisation-based work to the area, I’ve seen Flux and Flow build itself up from scratch and turn an empty shell of a health food store into a vibrant community class space and dance company. I have become an advocate for living, working, and dancing in Columbus, and as I look to the future and new jobs on the horizon I feel a profound sense of sadness about the community I’ll be leaving behind.

Last night those feelings became particularly poignant during the #2 showing of the Columbus Dance Alliance, a program of dance and movement, founded by generous donations and housed by the Wexner Center. The program last night demonstrated the breadth, versatility and beauty of the Columbus dance scene, and the committee should be congratulated wholeheartedly for holding such an open and proud space for dance in this city.

Lost Brotherhood by Gamal Brown opens the night – a sweetly moving work that set my own mood of fond nostalgia for times and friends gone by. Dancer DaRius FIncher brings a delicate touch to the space, gliding lightly through a complex turn series before coming to rest on the balls of his feet – poised on the fine line between present and future, self and community. Brown’s work is supported by a Columbus Dances Fellowship, and uses choreopoem and performance to tackle social justice issues of the present and past.

Inclusion by Melissa Hinchman (leader of the non-profit Cultivate Dance Project) is the second dance on the program, once again playing with individual creativity and unity. The choreography is articulate and full of refreshing, quirky details, making use of the dancers’ arresting performance dynamic. As the music breaks down, dissolves and returns, so do the dancers move from crisp unison towards a gradual dissolution of self – their attempts at partnered support gradually lost in individual isolation.

The final piece before the intermission – Michael Morris’s Elemental Rites at the End of the World – reaches out to the audience and draws us together in an urgent community of survival. Inviting us into a circle around them, Morris calls to the North, West, South and East horizons in a time of endings, invoking the elements with body and breath and ritual text. We are reminded that Earth, Water, Fire and Air are around and in and with all of us, that the spark in each cell is the wildfire that rages, is the witch burnt at stake and the women who we still do not believe. As their body strikes, flows, quakes and drifts, Morris shows us the layers of relationality between ourselves and the world, and they offer – with gentle hands – a way to hold those layers present and to care for them as we care for ourselves and each other.

Lauren Slone, choreographs and dances hot night slow drive fast car: a puzzle of a piece with a cobra in its belly, beautifully crafted and performed. Slone writhes and flicks her limbs across the stage with calm surety as the text and soundscape around her hint at profound internal struggle. hot night is a challenge to the superficial reading, and the dismissal of history and ritual trained into the body or inked on the skin. Interrupting balletic technique with a casually jutting hip, tracing pathways that are at once obscure and yet relentlessly determined, Sloane offers half of a story, and leaves us straining to see more clearly.

I have always loved the intersections of poetry and dance, and so the penultimate work: From these old pages, choreographed and danced by Megan Davis Bushway and Victoria Alesi was a treat to my eyes, ears and heart. Juxtaposing fragments of poems to shape new linguistic constellations, Bushway and Alesi invite us to consider how texts shape our humanity and response to the world. Their movement is quiet, with a responsive flow – a favourite moment is when the dancers grasp hands like a ballet bar, but instead on stasis they generate a swinging, circular, collaborative momentum, evolving and shifting until a compass line is traced around the stage. Poems become fragments become maps become the terrain we know, and how we explore it together.

On Board(hers), the final work of the night, takes us starkly from the free flow across maps and countries to the harshly linear space of customs and immigration control. Lucille Toth’s work, based on the testimonies of 15 Ohio-based immigrant women, has gathered interest and attention from all over the community, and I was justly excited to see an excerpt tonight. Amrita Dahr is flawless as the Orwellian customs agent, propelling the performers through a counter-intuitive ritual of routine subjugation. Toth and dancer Bita Bell bark at the audience in French and Farsi, in a powerful demonstration of what it’s like to be treated as a stranger in your own home. On Board(hers) makes its protest in the language of the marginalized – through empathy, and the unmistakable presentation of humanity, despite all the forces lined up to these things away. The full work will be shown on March 28th at the Beeler Gallery, and I urge all those who can to come and see it.

Thank you to the Columbus Dance Alliance for bringing these six works together, and I look forward to program #3!

The Big 5-OH – Celebrating OSU Dance

I am delighted to have been at OSU for the occasion of the department’s 50th birthday, and their Big 5-OH showing. Congratulations to whoever came up with that particular title, and the tagline: “…throwing our weight around for 50 years…”* I’ve always appreciated a really nuanced pun, and this big ten university dance department really does know how to throw it’s weight around, and how to stand up for itself, as the four dance pieces on tonight’s program demonstrate.**

The pieces are neatly tied together on the theme of Rudolf Laban’s principles of movement analysis: space, weight, time, and flow. The OSU Dance Department has been a home to Laban’s theories for many years, and when the vast repository of scores and documents previously held by the Dance Notation Bureau were orphaned, OSU’s archive reached out to shelter them under its expansive wings, turning the university into one of the foremost locations in the world for Laban-based research. Projecting scores onto the theater floor was an inspired touch – an invitation to literally get up and walk through pieces – a tool that I hope gets used with the next class of analysis students!

On my way into the theater I look through the archival display, lovingly crafted by Chris Summers. Here the department’s capacity to make art out of history and history through art is woven together in a compelling and accessible format. I pass the department chair, who pulls me in to look at a yellowing list of department alums from the year I was born. “This is so important!” She tells me, and I feel our collective pride in where we’ve come from and what we have done with dance – and what we’re going to do.

The space section of the evening is taken on by Susan Petry in her work Trace, and quite frankly I could have sat and watched its introduction all evening and still gone home satisfied. This is the first work I’ve seen in the Barnett Theater since it was reconfigured in the round, and the cast is clearly hungry for every extra inch of room the new layout affords them—they reach, roll, leap and dive through movement that stretches out to early modernism, but is still totally supported by the dancer’s conviction, and the starkly contemporary lighting design by Dave Covey. The formations of this work are its triumph: the dancers spiral in and through each other, knock each other out of place, bind and unravel, find and re-find clarity… even more astonishing is the humanity with which they achieve such calculated precision, causing me more than once to hold my breath, or double take, or even spontaneously applaud as complexity flourishes unexpectedly from chaos. I loved space. I just wanted to give it more time.

Time, thankfully, I had in abundance thanks to Daniel Robert’s work Nomadic Drift, which followed in the evening. Robert’s desert is a harsh space, but a rich one, incorporating the tectonic shift and grind of mountains wearing down, and the explosive bloom of day-flowering vegetation, the scurry and calculated mastery of survival. The dancers are at home in this landscape, and once again the virtuosity that could easily have been clinical is instead empathetic and full of life. The role-reversing foot-to-foot duet that marks time at the beginning of the work is as delicate as glass, and as certain as diamond. A later trio with the theme of diving through is gigglingly playful, while the central solo by Sydney Samson is as crisp and clear in the silence as a shadow carving through the sunrise. The Cunningham-based techniques in the piece feel at home in the atmosphere of the past, but this work is a showcase of all that the dancers in this department can do right here in the now.

Of all the choreographers commissioned for this anniversary show, it is Eddie Taketa who seems to have most fully grasped the brief that tonight is a birthday party. Kipuka is a flat out romp through jazz and funk, the dancers smiling and wheeling, and having what is clearly a wonderful time. If you weren’t looking carefully you might get caught up in the celebration and miss some of the sophistication of flow within the work, which would be a shame when this dynamic is so intelligently explored. Watch Alizé Raptou as she whips and spins across the floor, then breaks on a dime to turn back the other way, seemingly pulling momentum out of thin air. Watch a trio of dancers throw and catch each other across the space, moving with gravity but never allowing it to pull them even a hair out of rhythm with their partnership. This is not flow that pulls you on uncontrollably, this is flow taken up and mastered as a way of getting you exactly where you want to go. What is hip? This is.

It seems trite to say that a piece on theme of weight makes an impact, but that is without a doubt what Lush Departures by Crystal Perkins does: slamming a foot decisively down in the space and yelling “here we are, this is what we can do, and no-one can stop us.” Weight is a springboard that lets the dancers fly and rebound, their communal energy spiraling up and out and all through the space. Perkins has clearly made this piece with a lot of love for the department she called home as an MFA student, and which now celebrates her as a faculty member. Alumni photos hang like a benediction over the dancers, and a central section of the work uses archived sound of Vera J. Blaine coaching a past class of dancers in lightness. As we hear Blaine’s voice and see the cast embody her exploration we realize that we are seeing time: the innovation that becomes tradition that becomes innovation reworked again. It is a statement of past and future, reverence and pride, and fills me with hope as I step out and leave into the ongoing dance.

 

Happy birthday OSU Dance, here’s to many more years.

 

 

 

* I hear it was Susan Petry, which doesn’t surprise me at all.

**A fifth work Well of Pearls took place as part of the celebrations in another theater, but I was unfortunately unable to attend.

 

Flying Color: OSU Dance Faculty Concert

Last night I attended the OSU Dance Department’s sold-out Faculty Concert – a wonderful opportunity for students to enjoy the choreographic identities of the professionals they learn from. A faculty concert speaks to the tone of a department and the projects surfacing within it. At OSU this weekend we see an attention to physical and performative integrity, respect for tradition and ongoingness,* celebrations of multiplicity, and a dedication to art that is beautiful, meaningful, and communal.

Mitchell Rose’s A Primer in Contemporary Choreographic Iconography is a perfect show-opener: tongue-in-cheek, the piece delivers an astute analysis of postmodern choreographic sensibilities, and a deft performance of the same. Flirting with cliché but never vapid, Josh Anderson and Gina Hoch-Stall bring their masterful sense of performance and timing to this restaging. The piece works extremely well in the intimate setting of the OSU Barnett Theater, which allows the audience to delight in the richness and layering of detail. As Hoch-Stall falls to the floor “willed dead” by Anderson, Anderson’s eyes dart sneakily from one side to the other, subverting the melodrama of his stated intention in a playful “who, me?” Smart, ironic, a knowing nod to aficionados and newer attendees alike.

An Answerless Riddle by Eddie Taketa takes full advantage of the musical score by John Adams, pushing the dancers through an orchestral journey from airy virtuosity to wire-taught tenderness to flashing fire. Taketa’s breathtaking contrapuntal landscape is a complex sea the dancers navigate with confidence and flare. Kathryn Sauma’s lyrical ease subtly shapes the flow of the piece, and Marissa Ajamian strikes sparks, especially in the latter sections. All of the dancers should be praised for their fullness of line under pressure, and command of the music.

The last work before the intermission was the first work I have had the pleasure of seeing by new faculty member Crystal Michelle Perkins. The Difficulties of Flying is an essay in crystalline clarity, drawing on African American folklore in its exploration of wandering and homecoming. Sculptural unison binds the performers together, woven through by daring soloists who contrast the luscious string score with rapid shifts of weight, limb, and flow. Steve Reich’s Clapping Music closes out the piece perfectly, its drive and gravitational pulse harmonizing with the dancing and calling it forward into the infinite. As the cast circles Danielle Kfoury’s outpouring of circular energy the lights fade, but in our minds the dance continues.

From a new choreographer to one I always look forward to seeing: Ann Sofie Clemmensen’s work is consistently intelligent, structurally designed, a treat for the audience and for the bodies moving through it. Color in the Dark is no different, channeling kinetic precision and group identity into a striking investigation of presence, absence, the invisible and the seen. The cast brings a resonant physical and emotional maturity to the work: Danielle Barker standing still as the stage vibrates around her, fists to eyes, is one of the most memorable images of the night. The dancers throw themselves at the floor and each other, chaos translating seamlessly into order and back again.

The concert ends on a lighter note, beginning with Reverb by Daniel Roberts, a playful quartet inspired by Lukas Ligeti’s polyrhythmic “bending” of Shaking, by Merideth Monk. After three large-group works, the four dancers in pale light feel like a breath taken into the space, their nibbling runs and angular lines are geometric sparklers brightening up the stage. The four alight into their extensions with ease and levity, their interactions gentle, yet direct – here is an elite approach to elongated, linear technique at its finest… and at its kindest too. Paige St. John tips into a handstand and her two companions scurry her in a tight circle – a highlight moment among many, warmly welcoming us into the abstract. Special mention must be made for Jing Dian, newly stepping into her role in this restaging of the work.

The final work of the night, SISTERS by Dave Covey, is an unabashedly joyful treat, the audience laughing, clapping along, breathless and exuberant. The trompe-l’oeil of the set design is a triumph: cascading lines of light pour in arcs cross the space, transforming the black box into a fireworks display. The sure and sophisticated hand of co-director Bita Bell can be detected in the improvisation score that lives within, and yet is never overshadowed by this polychromatic wonderland. The cast are utterly together, in play and solidarity, each coming to the work in her own way – Jazelynn Goudy’s heart-pounding entrance in particular is fabulous – and spectacular as a whole. You will leave singing.

 

Photo Credit: Chris Summers

 

* A turn of phrase I owe to Janet Schroeder

 

The Linen Closet – And Other Collections

When I opened my program to write about Susan Petry’s new work: “The Linen Closet – and Other Collections” I found a perfectly preserved rose petal. Lush tactility, an evocative scent, and a little bit of magic… it was a perfect memento of the performance, which I urge you to go and see.

“The Linen Closet” explores fabric; it’s symbolic, cultural and historical warp and weft in the United States. It is a work of metamorphosis: a comforter becomes a play space, a lover, a child; the gestures of pattern cutting become a protest at the deep inequalities of children’s and women’s labour conditions. From the moment we walk into the theatre we are asked to immerse ourselves to the elbows in texture, pattern, repetition, detail, stacking and sorting, and the futility of attempting to categorise the riches draped before us. Petry transforms over the course of the performance to match her subject, flirting with kitsch and camp, simultaneously tongue in cheek and deeply sincere. For me the highlight was the vignette of a needle-eyed, voguing catwalk model, fierce and powerful, who exposes the urgency underpinning the soft surfaces of the work. History with a critical eye; domesticity with a bite; silk and chiffon as agents of change.

In “The Gift Project” Petry embodies the work and person of five different choreographers. As in “The Linen Closet” she makes light of the virtuosity required by her project, showing us the preparation and change from one body to another. The delight of seeing old friends in a new physicality, and five very different works approached with love and commitment is a breath of fresh air in an artistic and political climate where difference and diversion is often so divisive. The sole odd note of the evening occurs as Petry becomes a hip-hop performer for her final gifting: a good portion of the audience sniggers, breaking the generous suspension of disbelief that has been the tone of the work so far. Petry has to work hard to convince them that “no, really, I am genuinely embodying this presence.” She succeeds – totally and completely – but departs the state leaving me with questions in her wake.

The final work of the evening, “O Mortal” is breathtaking. A study in clarity and control, we see Petry as herself, finally, present and essential. Around her lies a ring of donated garments, and she moves through an introspective series of progressions to become the ever-flowing center of her own multiplicity. Together, the three works form a rich investigation into that which we put onto our skin and bodies: clothes, identities, and movement. We are asked to see and to witness, clearly and with love, who we are, and how we can choose to become.

 

Review: Commissioned Works

Apologies everyone, it’s been a long time since you heard from the headtail connection. I have a number of new posts in process: a summary of the response to my last post, a review of the Congress on Research in Dance conference in Athens, a look at a recent dance and disability case to name but a few… but it seems apt that I should start off by putting my money where my mouth was, and reviewing the graduating year at TrinityLaban in their program of newly commissioned works.

Lea Anderson opens the show with FLICK – a danced reconstruction of four works for film. As always Anderson manages to be bang on trend without ever resorting to the ennui of stereotype: her lime-green androgynes dance themselves and the camera, panning, tilting and layering through club dance and the American moderns. Long-term collaborator Steve Blake plunges us deep into electronica, and the dancers rise to the beat in dynamic and geometric unison. A rather abrupt ending leaves us guessing, rather than satisfied.

From behind the camera a people’s yell of “TAKE RESPONSIBILITY” begins Matthias Sperling’s new work: 17 Manifestos Manifested. Proposed as a graduation celebration come life-plan, from the audience it looks like a savvy expression of political illegibility. Manifestos cross and overlap, some realised with delightful literality, some obscured in the abstract of post-modern improvisation. Ingvild Marstein lies splayed on the floor giving love to the environment, while around her dancers attempt to “call your mum,” “make art with responsibility,” and “be patient.” It’s a great and funny game, although the point is somewhat lost when it all resolves into harmonious unison in defiance of real-world experience. Hope for the future maybe?

Stephanie Schober adds to the playful atmosphere of the first half, with getting-to-know you games, acrobatics and flying sheets of paper. At its best, the work has an easy legibility of movement and rhythm, although to my mind it itches for a gallery transplant and time to really explore itself. Schober deserves credit for her easy handling of such a large cast, drawing on the creative potential of hiding and revealing, while giving us plenty of new ideas to mess around with.

Pools of light and stillness characterise Charles Linehan’s work, and A Quarter Plus Green is no exception. Among the five works featured this one alone “does” gender: male and female bodies falling into partnered pairs just too often for coincidence, but is noticeable only because no-one else tonight is doing it. Pairs overlap, shift and merge, the dancers twisting, falling and never quite coming to an accommodation with themselves or each other. Strange shapes tease from just outside the light, and while the dancing is mature and sophisticated, it makes an uneasy conclusion as a night as a whole…

…But I will not be sharing with you the final work of the evening. It is 2018 and in light of new information about this work’s choreographer I cannot in good conscience retain my review of her work. This piece will end on a strange and uneasy note, with my apologies to the dancers who suffer for this removal.

I’m tempted to look at the whole night as a reflection on the state of British dance, but more importantly I want to congratulate this year’s graduates, who can look back on their achievements and greet the professional world with pride. They’ve got style, they’ve got moves, they’ve got commitment and they know how to move you and how to rock. Their dance is big, it’s open, it’s generous, it’s artistic… and despite my love of closure, it’s definitely not done.

Commissioned Works runs tonight at the Bonnie Bird Theatre in Greenwich. More information and tickets at: http://www.trinitylaban.ac.uk/whats-on/dance-events/dance-showcases-0

Events between a place and candy: Two reviews of spring in New York

“Event,” Robert Swinston and Compagnie CNDC Angers

It begins with a ripple of silk. Thirty or so panels in white, brown, pink yellow and red tossed out into the air as if an unseen dancer had suddenly run behind.

Perhaps, in that moment, much of what needs to be said about Merce Cunningham’s work has already been said: elegant, random, playful and vivid – evocation without signification. And the dance is just beginning.

Initially I was wary of Robert Swinston’s Event at the Joyce, a combine of various Cunningham repertory works on the Compagnie CNDC-Angers, or at least I went with my reconstructionist head on and a lot of questions to ask. What was he trying to do? Was this a Merce Cunningham work or a Robert Swinston? To what extent would he play on the (to my mind) very particular performance circumstances implied in the combination of “Cunningham” and “Event” in the same program?

The silk, to some extent, put my mind at rest, as did the sumptuous score emanating from John King and Gelsey Bell, tucked into the bottom left corner of the auditorium. The music existed, a crystalline thing of its own, creating synchronous moments with the movement of the stage and yet never narrating, or making the textual experience overly rich. And still, the dance is just beginning.

The eight dancers slowly form a diagonal line across the stage, rising to demi-point as they join hands to arrive en tableau. The opening of the piece says “duets” perhaps too loudly for my taste – with an emphasis on paired relationships and partnering, and more than a passing focus on centre stage. Several sequences are screamingly slow, while others sneak into virtuosity even as you admire the ease of their flow.

But over time, everything relaxes. Solos and group sections flourish in counterpoint, the technique and the dance settle more softly into each other. This is the repertoire of Cunningham’s I best enjoy: the play within the smaller things, the trio with linked arms who gallop and jump in parallel around the space like children, without at all becoming childish. I am particularly drawn to Flora Rogeboz, whose timing has both a softness and a surety, and who cannot help but smile as she yet again arrives to make the connection to her partner just so.

It is not an uncommon practice to take sections of Cunningham pieces and make of them something other, the wonderful Bride and the Batchelor’s exhibition played on a similar theme in London’s Barbican, but Event succeeds uniquely in being a work, and the works, and the work simultaneously. It is watchable in and of itself; to those in on the joke the individual pieces of repertoire come smiling to the light; the whole reassures you that the project of Cunningham, and Swinston, is out there, alive and well.

The silk panels by Jackie Matisse blow over Anna Chirescu in a delightfully unchoreographed moment of interaction. The dancers fill the space, prehensile feet flicking the floor, grasping it to bounce rhythmically in fourth position, the lights go out… and yet the dance is just beginning?

“between a place and candy: new works in pattern + repetition + motif.” Is a new exhibition at 1285 Avenue of the Americas, curated by Jason Andrew and organized by Norte Maar. The title comes from a poem by Gertrude Stein, who sought in her prose to “articulate a conscious presence where writing recreates itself anew in each successive moment.” …I must confess that for weeks I have been calling the exhibit “between my brain and candy,” so I excited was I by the number of elements in the event description that promised to render the experience absolutely delicious.

I was not disappointed. While individually distinctive, each work deeply explores some facet of pattern, repetition and/or motif, bringing an harmonious sense of curiosity to the collection. Resonant is the impression that pattern is both natural and human, micro and macrocosmic, its investigation fruitful, rich and yet strikingly simple. Mary Judge’s Bacio takes inspiration from decorative architectural motifs to bring us geometric flowers with the aged patina of stone, while Kerry Law’s Empire State Building Series draws back and watches a single building over time, using the stability of architectural repetition to track an ever-changing perception of the New York sky.

Many of the pieces have a vibrant kinetic energy, frequently through the play of optical illusion: the simplest of patterns, such as Joan Witek’s Massai confounding our mind’s attempt to render them static and comprehensible. Meanwhile the work that is most conceptually movement-oriented, Julia Gleich’s Combinatorics: a study of infinite or countable discrete structures becomes a meditative contemplation of atomic space, and the variation in cellular replication: a dancer’s feet tracing pathways like electrons around a nucleus, the gesture at once always the same and yet never duplicated.

I was gratified to see textiles emerging as a theme within the selection of works. While obviously generative, practices of knitting, weaving etc have only recently begun to be deemed creative, and their inclusion in several pieces added another layer of repetition to the overall design. Fiber arts, with their cultural link to the feminine, offer a hint of transgression to fine art practices, a challenge to the hierarchy of the traditional gallery; in this exhibition we do not forget that the canvas itself is an act of pattern.

The public opening of “between a place and candy” was bustling, making it hard to get as up-close and personal with some of the works as I’d have liked. My personal favourite, Libby Hartle’s Untitled #21 (Arrow) requires a close in viewing to truly appreciate the finesse with which graphite shading has been applied to create the concentric diamonds of the collage – I urge the viewer to take the time to find the units of the pattern, and consider them as individuals even as each work is enjoyed as a whole. In my mind the gallery becomes a living dialogue with the artworks: people stepping in and away, moving on to repeat the motif, recreating the experience of the works anew in each moment of changing space, between this place and candy.

Exhibition runs through June 12th 2015 at 1285 Avenue of the Americas Art Gallery